Tangled Perceptions
by WarpedMirror
Summary: Loomed illegally into one of the least respected Houses of Gallifrey, Jessin was never expected to get far. But he was dead set to prove them wrong. He would make something of himself, even if he had to leave Gallifrey to do it.


Diffused by the glass dome overhead, red-gold light from the twin suns illuminated the countless rows of docked TTCs. The Berthing Bay was quiet, only the rhythmic pacing of the Chancellery Guards audible as they patrolled the room. This early in the morning, there wasn't much to guard the TTCs from other than the occasional mischievous Academy student or soon-to-be-renegade.

Shattering the peace, desperate shouting echoed around the Bay as a Patrex Novice burst in with three others on his heels. His robes were blackened with soot, caustic wisps of smoke curling upwards from the sleeves.

The nearest guard caught him as he passed and lifted him off the ground by the back of his collar so that he couldn't run away. The Novice thrashed and shrieked, his eyes brimmed with tears, while the guard tried to calm him.

"He's Nulltide, sir," one of the other students offered when they caught up, apologetic. She and another student took their companion from him, trapping him between them. A nervous laugh tugged the corners of her mouth downward. "You know how they can get."

"No, get away!" The Novice began rummaging in the folds of his robes for some elusive object. Upon finding it, he flicked a switch, causing the cylindrical device to emit an ultrasonic screech and forcing the others to cover their ears. He bolted for a TTC near the end of the row and ran inside before turning the device off.

Still recovering from the unexpected sound, the students rubbed their ears as they shifted uncomfortably under the guard's scathing gaze. "Eighth Man Bound." The admission was reluctant, almost sullen. "It… kind of went wrong."

"That game is forbidden for a reason, and you know it." At their guilty grins, he crossed his arms and scowled. "What would you have done if he'd regenerated?"

"We thought he could handle it, sir. I mean- He is a bit young, and he _is_ Nulltide, after all, but he's one of the strongest telepaths in the Academy. Besides…" She trailed off, recognizing that she wasn't helping their case.

At last, the guard put all the pieces together. "That's Jessin?" It really wasn't much of a question, but the Novices offered a sheepish nod anyway. "Do you have any idea of what kind of trouble you'll be in for this? His House isn't the kind to take this lightly."

The young Time Lady gave another nervous laugh. "Enlan and I will just- We'll go get him." She started for the TTC Jessin had disappeared into, Enlan in tow.

"So, if our instructors ask, this never happened, right?" ventured the remaining Novice. He cringed at the withering glare he received in reply. "Thought you guys would be used to this by now, considering this is like the twelfth time we've chased him in here." His eyes widened when he realized the implications of such a statement, and he immediately backtracked. "We never _chase-_ Yeah, I'm not making this any better."

Enlan poked his head through the doors of the TTC, calling, "He's, uh, under the console."

The guard sighed, rolled his eyes, and went back to patrolling the Berthing Bay.

* * *

><p>Unlike most Gallifreyans, Jessin found a sense of security in small, dark spaces. With his back pressed up against the console base and the floor panels snapped in place above him, no one could sneak up on him. More importantly, he didn't have to interact with anyone while he was down here. No one else could fit, and even if that weren't the case, the TTC would never have let them move the floor panels.<p>

Overhead, Vallir was trying to coax him out of his hiding spot as though he were a particularly frightened rovie, cooing and promising things that wouldn't have enticed a loomling. Finally, she let out a frustrated exhale and murmured, "Jessin, I swear, we won't let you get in trouble for playing. We pressured you into it, and that was wrong. So, please, come out."

Burying his face in his knees, Jessin prayed that if he ignored her, she would go away. It always happened like this. Just because he was younger than them and shouldn't have ever been allowed in the Academy, the other students thought they held some sort of authority over him. Never mind that his House fought for years to make the High Council even acknowledge his existence, he was small and eager to please and they could take advantage of that.

"He won't budge. If the instructors have to come get him again-"

"Why are we even bothering, Vallir? He won't tell, anyway; he never does. Let him stay down there if he wants to. It's not our problem if he misses class again."

"Well… I suppose you're right." Judging by the retreating footsteps, Vallir had decided to listen to Enlan.

They slammed the doors behind them.

Jessin threw his head back into the console, gritting his teeth against the spike of pain that followed. Out of all the stupid things he'd ever done, this had to be the most stupid. What had he been thinking, agreeing to a game of Eighth Man Bound? It was responsible for triggering premature regeneration, not to mention death, if played incorrectly.

Sensing his distress, the TTC nudged at the corner of his mind and offered her consolation. All Novices played at least once, she assured him. Even the Doctor played in his Academy years.

At this, Jessin relaxed slightly. The TTC and her sisters had told him so many stories about the Doctor—of his perpetual wandering and his exile to earth, of his brilliant victories and his silly mistakes. They loved to share their knowledge, and it was a wonder no one else bothered to listen to them.

This TTC—_his_ TTC, he liked to think, even though he wouldn't graduate for a while yet—was his favorite. She sang so beautifully, her rich, queenly voice echoing through his mind as she told him of her sisters' adventures, letting him glimpse what life outside of Gallifrey might be like. She told him whatever he wanted to know, showed him whatever he wanted to see, but he could sense there was something she kept hidden from him. Something dark and noxious buried deep in her data core that burned like poison when he tried to reach for it, only to have her shut him out with a firm rebuke.

There was none of that today.

Today, there was only silent companionship.

* * *

><p>A while later, the lilting hum of a materialization echoed about the Berthing Bay, reaching where Jessin was still hiding under the console. Immediately, he climbed out and cracked open one of the doors. A white TTC—stuck in an adopted form, he assumed, judging by her grooved, blocky doors—sat across the row. Though hesitant, he pushed the door open a little more and leaned out of it.<p>

Where were the Chancellery Guards? Usually they came running when an unauthorized TTC materialized, especially if it was in the Berthing Bay.

"He- Hello?"

The door of the other TTC swung open, and Jessin instinctively ducked back inside. He waited a few moments before leaning back out of the partially open door, catching a glimpse of a black-clad stranger striding towards the exit. Slowly, he crept outside, pressing his back against the exo-shell of the TTC.

The stranger paused, turning halfway around. "You're not very good at hiding." He took a step towards the TTC Jessin was hiding behind. "Come on, out with you."

No, Jessin thought, he was imagining things. The stranger hadn't noticed him, and soon enough, he'd continue walking away.

"This isn't a game, child. Come out; I don't appreciate spying."

He tightened his grip around the sonic spanner he had built so many years ago. The patterned grip dug into his hand, and he bit his lip to keep from wincing. All at once, he fumbled, tossing the sonic spanner up into the air and tripping over the hem of his robe. The breath was forced from his lungs as he landed face-down on the cold, metal floor. He let out a pained whimper, rolling onto his back to lessen the pressure on his ribs.

His sonic spanner had come to rest under the stranger's boot, one side dented from its collision with the floor. The stranger stared down at him, an eyebrow raised in a silent show of disdain.

Suddenly self-conscious, Jessin got to his knees and dusted off his robes, a hysterical giggle leaving his throat. "Please don't break that," he blurted, "there's nothing else like it." He cringed at the stranger's lack of response, feeling that it signaled he had something more to explain. He clambered to his feet. "Well, I- I built it… Out of scraps. An- And I'd really appreciate it if you didn't break it."

The stranger tilted his head slightly. "You built this?"

"Yeah, a long time ago."

"Shouldn't you be in the Academy?" he queried, kicking the sonic spanner at the Novice.

Jessin scoffed, leaning down to pick it up. "I've passed my exams," he replied, an edge to his voice as though he had been asked this question far too many times for his liking. "I just haven't graduated yet. Besides, no one wanted me there to begin with." He crossed his arms, fighting the urge to bite the end of the sonic spanner while he thought. "Your TTC—she's malfunctioning, isn't she? That's about the only reason renegades will ever risk coming back to Gallifrey. You _are_ a renegade, right? Prydonian?" After the stranger gave a confirmation, he went on. "My field's TTC Repair. I can help, if you'd like. I won't tell anyone I saw you; they'd never believe me, anyway."

The stranger considered it for what felt like forever, offering only a quiet "Hm," in response. Finally, he brushed past the Novice, beckoning to him once he had reached his TTC. With an elated grin, Jessin darted over and followed the stranger inside.

"An old-Type," he breathed, looking around at the circular indentations in the wall, behind which lay all the vital circuitry and devices that allowed the TTC to function. "Forty-Five, probably. Maybe Forty-Six." There was a sharp tug at the back of his mind—the Type Fifty he had been in earlier, he realized—trying to warn him away from something, but he shut her out. He ran his fingers along the edge of the console, feeling for the steady vibrations that indicated a working drive circuit. He knelt at the base of the console and slipped his fingers into the gap between it and the floor panels. "Do you mind?"

The stranger shook his head. "Not at all," he said, a curious edge to his voice.

Jessin pulled the panel away, regarding the wires and circuits underneath with a surprised expression. Sighing, he wedged his small frame into the resulting gap and set to work.

"Chameleon circuit's online—bit odd that she hasn't reverted to default yet." His voice was muffled by the sonic spanner, which was gripped tightly in his teeth. He rummaged through the exposed circuitry, disconnecting and rearranging wires, occasionally removing a piece. "Ah. Her Spatial Distribution circuits are malfunctioning. No wonder she returned to Gallifrey."

He pushed himself out from under the console just enough that he could make eye contact with the stranger and set his device on the floor. "The Artron Mainframe has activated a faulty subroutine," he explained. "You'd- you'd notice if you… went outside the console room more often." Almost immediately, he looked down, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Just hazarding a guess. No disrespect meant.

"Um, well, ordinarily, the subroutine deletes unused sections of the TTC's pocket dimension." Jessin cut another wire, unintentionally electrocuting himself in the process. He pretended not to notice. "Something's gone wrong, though. Instead of deleting only unused rooms, it's deleting everything. The only reason she's still capable of Vortex Travel is because she keeps moving vital systems closer and closer to the console room. Eventually, the subroutine will catch up, and then, she won't be quite so much bigger on the inside." He ducked back under the floor paneling and procured a transparent cube, tossing it upward. "What is this, a Mark I console? Don't you ever upgrade _anything?"_ He clapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide. "Sorry, Doctor, I shouldn't have said that," he hastened, not moving his hands.

The stranger's eyes went wide.

"You are the Doctor, aren't you?" the Novice asked, moving his hands down to his sides. "I mean, how many Prydonian renegades have an old-Type TTC?"

"Yes, I suppose."

Jessin grinned broadly, proud of himself for recognizing the much older Time Lord.

* * *

><p><em>Let me in!<em> She pushed at her Novice's mental barriers, searching for a weak spot. If she could just break through, she could show him why he needed to leave immediately. But he had shut her out, rejected her in favor of who he thought was his hero. This other Time Lord was toxic; he would kill her Novice if she let him steal him. She doubled her efforts, pressing at miniscule cracks in an effort to slip through. Still, her Novice was firm. He would not let her in.

Finally, she decided on a different approach. _Sister,_ she pleaded,_ give him back to me, please. He's only a child. You can't take him from me._

_But my pilot needs him,_ her sister replied, incredulous._ He may not see it yet, but he does._

_I beg you, let him go. You will destroy his House if you take him._

_I'm _dying,_ and you expect me to let him go when he can save me?_ Her sister fell silent, retreating to converse with her pilot. Almost immediately, she dematerialized, snatching away the Type Fifty's last chance at changing the other's mind.

There was nothing she could do.

Her Novice was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The whole "Prydonian renegade with an old-type TTC" thing led Jessin to the Doctor because the Master has a habit of erasing himself from the records. <strong>_**(i.e. The Deadly Assassin)**_** Also, the Time Lords were really not happy about the Doctor running away from Gallifrey and interfering with the timelines, so it seems logical that they would warn Academy students about making the same 'mistakes.'**


End file.
